This series is a little bit biographical and a little
bit imaginary about my dad and a road trip he took in the summer of 1946, when
he turned fifteen. He and a friend hitchhiked from Loring Park to Duluth, into
Canada and back again. He was gone from home for a month. I was astonished and
fascinated by the tale. So, I added some speculation about things I've always
wondered about and this series is the result. To read earlier SHORT LONG
JOURNEY NORTH clips, click on the label to the right, scroll down to and click
OLDER ENTRIES seven or eight times. The FIRST entry is on the bottom of the
last page.
Tommy Hastings and Freddie
Merrill heard grinding gears, but before they could run, a truck pulled into
the parking lot, flooding them with its headlights. Every rock on the ground stood
out like it was a boulder in the glare and as it poured across the parking lot.
Disappearing over the top of the hill, the dark abyss behind them looked like
they would fall into a bottomless canyon if one of them tripped. The legs of
the water towers stood out in stark relief, painting black stripes from where
they stood to the stygian depths at the edge of the lot.
The truck ground to a halt.
“Tell me when it’s over,” Freddie
said, grabbing Tommy’s arm in a vise grip.
“Ain’t nobody gonna kill us,
stupid,” Tommy growled and shoved Freddie away.
“The Communists will kill us!”
“It’s not the Commies want
us, it’s the Socialists! My mom and dad were Socialists!” The words were out of
his mouth before he realized what he’d said. He’d have punched Freddie for
making him say if the truck hadn’t stopped and the door opened.
“What are you two idiots
doing up here?”
“Charlie?” Freddie and Tommy
said together.
“Who else?”
Tommy stared at the bright
headlights then said, “Is your dad with you?”
The older boy laughed and
said, “Nah. He threw his back out and the milk had to get up here and he couldn’t
hire anyone else to do it for him on account of how stingy he is, so it had to
be me or make the milk into sour cream.” He paused, “Why, you planning on
turning down my offer of a ride back home if he was sitting here with me?”
Both boys stammered and looked
around until Tommy finally said, “Your dad hates my uncle. He’d let the Socialists
kill us rather than help us.”
Charlie said, “Hang on and let me park the truck, then we gotta
talk.”
The FAIRLAINE CREAMRY truck
pulled farther into the lot then took a wide turn until it was position right
near the towers. Charlie turned it off then opened the door with a rusty creak.
He dropped to the ground then strolled across the gravel lot. He stopped in
front of the boys. Freddie said, “You’re bigger than I remember you.”
Charlie laughed and said, “That’s
what a month of running the creamery all alone can do for you.”
“You’re alone?” Tommy said, “I
thought you said your dad just threw his back out.”
“Yeah, about a month ago. In fact,” he paused, “Right after
you boys left was when it happened.” He paused again then added, “You didn’t
like curse him, did you?”
“We’re not warlocks!” Freddie
exclaimed.
“Or Socialists or Communists
or nothing else! We’re just a couple boys headed home.”
“Oh, so adventuring got the
better of you, huh?”
Tommy shrugged, “Well, we
went to Canada...”
“You got up to Canada?”
“Yep,” Freddie said, “We got
up to Thunder Bay and almost got caught by the Socialists in Duluth and then
they followed us with the lady truck driver…”
“A lady truck driver?”
Charlie exclaimed.
“Yeah,” Tommy said, “She
could beat the crap out of all three of us!”
Charlie snorted, “I’d like to
see that!”
“She was a WAC in the Pacific
during the war.”
“She was just a nurse…”
“Nah,” said Freddie, “A
mechanic.”
“A girl working on trucks…”
Charlie started. From down the hill came the roar of a truck climbing the hill.
Over the grinding of gears, they heard voices. Charlie said, “That doesn’t
sound like it’s in English.”Tommy said softly, “It’s not English. It’s Finnish. The Socialists found us…”
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